


how much more

by mikkal



Series: sleeping at last (oct '19) [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Hurt Noctis Lucis Caelum, Sleep Deprivation, Whumptober 2019, Zegnautus Keep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-11-23 10:02:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20890292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikkal/pseuds/mikkal
Summary: There's nowhere safe to sleep or rest. And it all starts to get to Noctis, being alone and weaponless with nothing but corrupted MTs roaming the hall and Ardyn taunting him over the speakers.Whumptober 2019: Day 3: Delirium





	how much more

The door in front of him reads ‘dorms’ in the Niff language he only learned reluctantly. His dad had been too fond of the idea of someday calling Niflheim allies and drawing up actual peace treaties with them. Noctis knew his dad, deep down, didn’t actually believe in the dream, but it gave him hope for the future and something to strive towards in terms of war.

Of course, look where that hope got him.

(Look where a lot of things got _them all_.)

Noctis clenches his shaking hand into a tight fist, the unnatural coldness of the Ring of the Lucii burning into his palm. It’s angry that it hasn’t been used recently, that Noct’s been ducking into tight spots where MTs either can’t find or can’t reach him. All he wants to do is _sleep_. His phone, out of service and battery draining fast since he can’t throw it into the armory to charge, tells him it’s been two days since they’ve arrived to Zegnautus Keep.

Two days and he hasn’t found Prompto. He hasn’t seen hair or hide of Gladio and Ignis.

Two days. He hasn’t slept.

Exhaustion urges him to open the door, see if there’s real beds in there even though he’s perfectly okay with taking sleeping bag or, forbid, a moth-eaten blanket at this point.

Paranoia tells him that every door he’s opened so far has led to more daemons and MTs than he could possibly handle.

He reaches out, trembling from the cold, from exhaustion, from the little fear he’s willing to admit to even if it’s only a fraction of it, and stops when his fingers brush the freezing metal of the door. He hesitates and it costs him when, from down the hall behind him, sounds the clanking and groaning of a MT. It doesn’t matter what kind, he snatches his hand back, curls it to his chest like he’s been burned, and turns heel to hurry in the opposite direction of the horrid noise.

His footsteps are too loud. They echo, sounding from all around him. His heart pounds in his chest, blood roars in his ears. His lungs feel too tight, he can’t get enough air.

There! A crack in the wall. Barely big enough for him, definitely too small to accommodate an MT’s armor even if it is all broken and falling apart.

Noctis holds his breath even though it makes his already present lightheadedness sway into full-on dizzy status. The off-rhythm, staggering clanks get closer and closer. He can hear the sound of an axe dragging down the metal hallway like out of a horror movie.

But then…the footsteps stop. Noctis freezes even more, doesn’t twitch, doesn’t blink. He closes his eyes and them squeezed shut, dread pooling in his stomach and clawing up his throat to sit there heavily.

Seconds pass. Then minutes. Everything is quiet.

He cracks his eyes open, glancing out, and when he doesn’t see a terrifying mechanical face staring back, he scoots towards the edge of the space.

The hallway is empty.

Noctis swallows thickly and steps out carefully, looking both ways. With how slowly those footsteps were and how long the hallway is, there’s no way the MT doubled back or made it around the corner that fast. He rubs his burning eyes and looks again. Nope, still empty. The Ring is screaming at him to use it, feeding into his paranoia.

All he wants to do is sleep but crying would also be real swell right about now. Just to have some sort of emotional release that won’t attract the attention screaming would do. But no, he won’t. Prompto’s still out there. Gladio and Ignis.

And that stupid daemon that’s been following him, the big winged one that can _talk_ even if it is just about the Ring—Aldercapt, it has to be.

He holds back the tears, now is not the time, and takes as deep a breath as the tension will allow him. It’s not nearly enough. It’s almost over. It has to be.

—

He finds Prompto. At least he thought he did. Only, really, he doesn’t. The broken MT, falling apart and crumbling and no longer looking like his best friend, crashes to the floor and he can’t help but scream his rage.

Noctis yanks up a box and throws it at the wall. It shatters into pieces. He picks up and throws another, another, and another. Thankfully he already killed the daemons in the next room, but he spares no thought to the idea more could spawn and come searching. A flash of yellow out of the corner of his eye has him whirling towards it, but it’s just some panel flashing a small light.

“_My, my, what a temper_.”

“Shut _up_!” Noctis screeches.

There’s the click of the intercom turning off and silence reigns. Except Noctis can still hear the faint echo of Ardyn’s smug laugh. With the adrenaline wearing off, Noctis slumps against the wall, squeezing his eyes shut as his head aches with the pressure of a building migraine, then he shoves himself to his feet, shaking his head even though it hurts.

He stands in the room, hand on his hip, the other reaching up so he can scratch at his neck absentmindedly. It stings where his nails are and, when he pulls back, there’s fresh blood staining them. Noctis frowns at the sight and presses his fingertips to the spot, hissing when the pain spikes.

Yep, that’s blood. Did a daemon get him?

The shock troopers are practically unavoidable when he gets caught up in them, he’s got enough burn marks—glistening and bleeding—to prove it and the axemen’s gloves leave bad enough scratches behind let alone what their axes do, but he’s been pretty good about avoiding daemon attacks.

He swipes an open palm over the wound he can’t see, smearing blood across his throat. It’s not a pretty sight, crimson against too-pale skin. The scratches are nothing like the gouges from a daemon’s claws or an MT’s gloves, they’re shallow and scraped out. Like Noctis himself has been taking his nails to his own throat. Of course, he doesn’t see this, doesn’t bother looking in the shattered mirror sitting on the desk in the corner.

All he does is swipe his access card to upgrade it once more and steps out into the hallway, his steps wavering and unable to follow a straight line.

—

There are a thousand and one things Prompto would love to see right now. The inside of this room is definitely not one of them. Ardyn is so far from being one of them if anyone even suggested he was number 1,001 on that list all the way at the bottom he would laugh in their face and ask Noctis if he could borrow Cerberus for some murdering.

What he wouldn’t give to see his friends, know that they’re safe and actually came for him.

He can hear Ardyn speaking through the intercom, too faint to hear what he’s saying, and his gut rumbles in unease. His wrists ache and his shoulder burn from being in the same position for too long, carrying all of his weight. If the guys do come for him, he’s not sure how helpful he’s going to be like this. He tries to breathe through his nose, but it’s been broken for days now and that’s only made it worse.

Footsteps appear down the hallway, one pair, and they’re too quick to be an MT or Ardyn, but they’re not as fast as they should considering who he hopes they belong to. Both his breathing and his heartbeat pick up. He squints through the too bright lights of the room, trying to ignore the sting of tears hope brings.

Noctis comes out of the shadows like an avenging angel, terrifying and with fury etched into his expression. Prompto swallows thickly at the sight of burns and blood. The side of his neck is especially bad, like someone had gouged thick lines into him, but there’s nothing on the other side to indicate they’re from an enemy’s hand around his throat.

He stops on the edge of the brightest point, staring at Prompto with something like fear and shock. His hands are shaking, one of them snakes up to pick at the wound on his neck, his fingers covered in dry and fresh blood. Now Prompto’s stomach rolls for completely different reasons, bile rises to throat.

“Prompto?” Noctis’ voice is thin and wavering and sounds completely unsure about the sight in front of him. He steps back hesitantly and there’s something wrong with the way he moves.

This could be Ardyn playing a trick on him again, but nothing could fake the spark in the air now that Noctis is close. It tastes like magic and while Ardyn tasted like magic too, his was ancient and corrupted. Noctis’ is the ocean and the earth and the sky and a hundred thousand fresh pure things that don’t match the atmosphere around them.

“Yeah,” Prompto croaks out. “It’s me.”

Ardyn’s left him more or less alone since he’s been brought to Zegnautus and Prompto fears he turned all his attention to Noctis instead.

Noctis comes closer, crouched low like he’s waiting for something to jump him from the shadows, eyeing Prompto with trepidation. Prompto smiles the best he can at him, his dry lips cracking.

“Man, am I glad to see you,” he says. Noctis blinks slowly, eyelashes fluttering. He’s looking at Prompto, but it doesn’t seem like he can actually focus on what he sees. “Where’re Gladio and Ignis?”

His lips part—there’s dried blood on the corner of his mouth—and his eyebrows furrow. “…Prompto?”

He swallows thickly. “Yeah. Yeah. It’s Prompto.” He instinctively moves to reach out for his injured friend only to have his wrist and shoulder scream at him, still bound against the whatever-the-fuck he’s attached to. “You look like shit, Noct.”

Noctis reaches out, the Ring of the Lucii catching the light and drawing Prompto’s eye. Ooooh, shit. Okay. Then he jumps when trembling fingers brush shirt over his chest. Noctis is far too cold, the tips of his fingers a light blue, and there’s dark shadows dragging under his eyes. The skin there is puffy, his eyes rimmed red.

“Prompto,” he says for a third, chilling, time.

“That’s me!” He wiggles his fingers. “C’mon, help me out of here. You don’t look like you’re gonna be standing much longer.”

Noct blinks slowly again. “I…what?” He looks so confused.

Forget the hope, now Prompto just wants to cry in frustration and fear. But before he can, Noctis slowly, painstakingly slowly, reaches up with a wince and starts fumbling with one of the straps. This close Prompto see dried blood in his nose and at the corner of his eyes, he can see the way the burns layer like he’s been healed but not enough only to get hurt again. The wound on his neck is the same.

“Noct,” he whispers. “What happened?”

He laughs and it’s a terrible, horrible laugh and drops his forehead on Prompto’s bicep. Gently, because he’s somehow aware enough see how hurt Prompto is. “What hasn’t?” He licks his lips and moves to the other strap, pressing his shoulder into Prompto’s chest to keep him upright and not pulling all his weight on one shoulder even though the ground is close enough Prompto’s pretty sure he’ll be fine.

Prompto curls a hand around Noct’s shoulder, watching his profile as he struggles even more with the second strap. “Noct…”

And he freezes, his breathing picks up and his eyes widen in fear. He looks every inch of a frightened rabbit with a hawk circling overhead. Prompto starts to say his name again only to have Noct press a finger to his own lips, silently shushing him.

There’s nothing. No noise. Nobody’s walking down here.

Then Noctis is walking away, attention drawn with a single mindedness that has chill go down Prompto’s spine. He fumbles with the second strap, relieved to find it mostly undone, and stumbles when he’s released. His shoulders scream at him and he carefully rolls them as he goes to Noct, trying hard to stay to the side so maybe he’ll see him in his peripherals.

“What is it?”

What Noct’s looking at doesn’t seem interesting. It looks like an old can of some sort, but Noct’s looking at it like it holds the solutions to all their problems. Prompto gently places a hand on the crook of his elbow, drawing his wide-eyed attention to his face. It drifts to somewhere over his shoulder.

“Prompto!” Noctis exclaims. He drops the can with a loud clang. “Prom, where…when did you.” His hands come up to flutter helplessly around Prompto’s face. “You—Are you—_Prompto_,” he says in despair. “I was so worried. Are you, fuck, are you okay? I’m so sorry.”

Prompto grabs his wrists, grimaces when he flinches, and draws them carefully to his face until Noctis is cupping Prompto’s jaw. “I’m fine. See, I’m fine.” The Ring is warm against his skin, almost burning. “What happened to you? Where are Gladio and Ignis?”

Noct’s head cocks like a confused puppy. “What?”

He resists the urge to shake him. Instead, he grips the hands in his a little harder. “Tell me what happened.”

“I don’t…” He scowls and rips his hands away, unexpected fury pinching his expression. “Stop asking questions,” he all but snarls. Prompto steps back in surprise. Noct fists his hands over his ears, doubling over. “St-Stop asking qu-qu—.” He can’t get the word out, tripping and stumbling. “I don’t know what’s going on.” Tears drip down his cheeks, cutting through blood and dirt. He looks up at Prompto with big blue eyes. “I don’t…Please tell me what’s going on.”

Prompto can’t help the few tears that manage to escape. He’s seen Noct angry and irritated, scared and unsure. Hell, he’s seen Noct get hit with a confused status ailment and come out the other side laughing.

But this? This isn’t some afflicted status ailment. There is something genuinely wrong with Noctis. And Prompto has no idea how to help him.

—

Gladio checks the time again and scowls when it tells him only ten minutes have passed since he last looked. His battery is draining low, too low to check like he is, but he can’t stand the fact it’s been three days in this stupid ass Keep and there’s been no sign of Prompto or Noctis.

Best he can tell, they did find the room Prompto was held in. But all that was left was some bloody straps hanging loose and a misplaced empty can of food on the ground. No clue to where they went next. Nothing. And they haven’t heard Ardyn open his damn mouth in a while.

“I hear something,” Ignis says suddenly, stopping in his tracks. Gladio doubles back, already on high alert. While the route they’ve taken has either been empty or filled with low-level daemons, Ignis’ has caught on to a few deadly traps the Chancellor wasn’t kind enough to warn them about. His eyebrows furrow in concentration. “Gladio…”

“Just tell me where,” he replies.

But then Ignis moving, cane tapping out. “No. I think…I think I hear Noctis.” He frowns. “And Prompto?” Before Gladio can question it, Ignis is snapping out a sharp, “This way!”

Gladio swears under his breath and follows. The blinded advisor is much quicker than he should be considering the unfamiliar area, but it’s not long before Gladio catches up and they’re taking corners together until they come across a large room with a handful of screens showing different parts of the Keep and a desk full of controls.

And a hallway to the side, lit up with electricity. Prompto and Noctis trapped inside with half a dozen MTs. Prompto spots them first.

“Shit! Shit, guys. Thank, Ramuh.” He’s gripping Noct’s shoulder tightly, a rusted gun in hand but he doesn’t use it. “Hurry!” The walls on either end of the hallway are moving steadily closer together. Prompto follows Gladio’s gaze to them then shakes his head. He yelps when Noctis steps back away from an MT, treading on his foot, before the blonde is yanking them both back and wrapping a hand around Noct’s chest. “No—I mean, yeah. Turn it off. But hurry. I don’t—Noct, don’t!”

Noctis raises his hand. Prompto lunges for it, wrapping a hand around his and yanking it down. He whirls around on his friend, snarling, eyes shining a too bright blue, but Prompto refuses to budge.

“Gladio, what’s happening?” Ignis asks.

He doesn’t answer. He rushes to the control panel, stares at the many lit up buttons with a helplessness he hates. Shrugging, he lifts his great sword and cleaves it into the panel. Sparks go flying, something makes a god-awful racket, but the electricity stops, the two walls fall away.

Gladio goes in with a roar, taking out three MTs with a single swipe. He turns to the others, only to bear witness to Noct elbowing Prompto in the stomach and raising his hand. The Ring of the Lucii blares a bright, blinding light and the magic that seeps out of it is nothing like Gladio’s ever see or felt. It clings to the MTs as they jerk and tremble, as they collapse to their broken knees and wither away to nothing.

Noctis’ arm grows ashen, cracks of molten lava threads through his skin instead of blood. It crawls up his neck and to his face. The wounds Gladio hadn’t seen before scab over then scar faintly. His eyes glow something unholy, his expression dead and blank. Prompto gathers himself and finally reaches up to yank on Noct’s arm, jarring him from whatever spell that was.

“What?” Noctis snarls.

Prompto grips his arm tighter. “Stop,” is all he says.

He shoves him away, goes sideways with a stagger until he stumbles and crashes to his knees. Ignis moves to the sound, but Prompto puts a hand to his chest.

“What’s happening?”

“What _was_ that?”

Ignis and Gladio ask together. Noctis curls up, forehead to his knees, arms around his legs, and he trembles.

“There’s more,” he says so quietly it barely sounds like anything at all.

Prompto shakes his head. “No there’s not. We got them all.”

Noctis barks out a laugh. “No. There’s more. There’s always more.” He chokes on a sob. “I can hear them.”

A beat, then. “I don’t hear anything,” Ignis says, voice firm. “And I hear a lot of things. I do not hear anyone coming.” Noctis doesn’t react. “Noct, do you trust me?”

“I don’t know,” he replies, and he sounds lost, confused. He looks up at them. “I don’t…You. I—.” Tears trickle down his cheeks. Gladio’s heart clenches. “There’s more,” he says helplessly.

Prompto crouches to his level. “There’s really not,” he says softly. “If you don’t know about Iggy, then you trust me, right?” Noctis nods and Ignis lets out a tiny hurt noise. “And I trust Iggy. There’s no more, okay?”

Gladio holds out a hand, trying to make his expression as open and unthreatening as possible. Obviously, something’s wrong. “C’mon,” he says. “Let’s get out of here.”

Noctis’ gaze follows his hand up to his arm then to his face, drifting over his shoulder. “What happened?” he asks. Ignis makes another noise. “Gladio…when did you get here?” When Gladio wiggles his fingers, Noctis takes it and lets himself be heaved up. He sways into Gladio’s chest. “What happened?” he repeats.

Up close Gladio can see the layered scars and the healed wound on his neck. His clothes are burned and torn; his skin too cold. The Ring, though, burns red-hot, enough to leave a mark on Gladio’s hand. It will fade, eventually, but now he can’t help but stare at it.

“Noct,” Ignis says, stepping up. He taps his cane against the prince’s shoe and comes closer until he can curl a hand around his forearm. “Noct,” he repeats, for once at a loss for words.

“Iggy,” Noct replies. He’s frowning, confused and worried, and touches the side of Ignis’ face. “What happened to you?”

“What do you mean?”

“He hasn’t slept,” Prompto jumps in with, slightly panicked. He’s thrown the gun somewhere, out of bullets, and now he has a hand on Noct’s shoulder and another waving in the air. “From what I can get, he hasn’t slept since you guys got separated.”

“Shit, Noct,” Gladio says.

Noctis glares at him and there’s nothing half-hearted about it. Three days without sleep? And, judging by the state of him, fighting that whole time. Not to mention the toll not having access to his magic would cause after being connected his entire life. Hell, Gladio and Ignis can feel it and they’ve been using it for only ten years in comparison. _And_—And, and, and. The cost of wearing the Ring of the Lucii.

“There’s a dorm not too far from here,” Ignis says slowly after a pause. He refuses to let go of Noct. Until Noctis starts tugging away and only then does he let go reluctantly. “Gladio and I rested there not too long ago. We should take a night.”

“_No!_” Noctis exclaims, voice pitched loud enough to cause them to jump. He starts pacing, hands gesturing wildly in the air. “We can’t! There’s…There’s monsters in there. I can’t. I don’t—Listen. It’s not safe.” He whirls on them, eyes bright with fever. “They’re everywhere. I can’t… It’s. I don’t…”

He’s delirious, Gladio realizes and is ashamed of himself for letting them get separated in the first place. They left Noct on his own, without magic and without backup. He drags a hand down his face.

“Listen,” he says. Noctis continues for a long few seconds before he cuts himself off with a snap of his teeth. “It’s one-hundred percent safe. You wanna know why?”

Noctis hesitates, then nods silently.

“Because we’re here.” Gladio jerks a thumb towards his chest. Prompto and Ignis nod quickly. “We’ll keep you safe, yeah? You don’t have to carry this on your own.”

There’s a moment where nothing happens, then Noctis promptly bursts into tears.

—

They have to take the long way around to avoid a cluster of haywire axemen in the hall. Noctis jumps at every little noise, goes back and forth between having enough energy to be in front and then feeling so sluggish he drops back. When that happens, the guys go with him.

Halfway there, he stops, mouth pressed into a thin line and eyebrows furrowed. “Wait,” he calls. “Where…Where are we going?”

Ignis’ heart skips a beat. “To a dorm,” he replies patiently. Honestly, this isn’t the first time they’ve had to tell him, but it doesn’t get any easier. “We’re almost there. I promise.”

“I…” he starts then stops. The words come and go, his sense of direction is shot.

Ignis holds out a hand silently and Noctis takes it, threading their fingers together and squeezing tightly. The Ring is warm through his glove and Ignis hates it so much. He wishes he could see Noctis even though he’s sure he won’t like what he would see.

They make it to the dorm in record time. The door hisses when it opens but when Ignis tries to step in, Noct freezing up stops him. He turns towards his prince, reaching out with his free hand, cane dangling from his wrist.

“Noct,” he tries.

“There’s monsters,” Noctis says weakly.

“Not in here, buddy.” Prompto’s voice sounds off, already in the dorm. He knocks on the walls a few times. “See, just me. No one’s getting in here but the four of us.”

Gladio’s bulk passes Ignis in Noctis’ direction. “We’ve got you.”

Ignis tugs on his hand and leads him into the room. He feels around for obstacles and finds the pole for one of the bunk beds. He pulls Noctis closer and settles a hand on each of his trembling shoulders. He doesn’t protest when Ignis presses him down to the thin mattress, just lets out a thin whine of confusion and unease.

“It’ll be okay,” Ignis soothes. He drags his hands down Noct’s arms then back up, then repeats. “Sleep,” he tells him. “Everything will be better when you wake up.”

That’s a lie, but Noctis is too out of it to realize it. At least the sleep deprivation-based delirium would be mostly fixed (_mostly_ because one night isn’t going to cure it completely).

“I can’t,” Noctis mumbles. “It’s just—I can’t,” he repeats helplessly. “Prompto. He needs. We need…” He growls in frustration.

The bed moves as Prompto clambers over to sit next to him, toe tapping Ignis’ foot to let him know he’s there, and presses his thigh against Noctis’.

“I’m right here,” he tells him. Carefully he curls an arm around his shoulders. “You saved me, remember? I’m right here.”

“…When?”

Oh, _Noctis_.

There’s a strained smile in Prompto’s voice as he answers. Ignis wishes they had access to the armory. They found only a few scattered potions and elixirs on their quest to find Noctis and Prompto and he very much regrets using them on Gladio and himself. Their wounds had been trivial in comparison to what these two have gone through.

Gladio settles a heavy hand on his shoulder. “This is fucked up,” he says quietly. Ignis nods. “I’ve never seen him this bad off.”

He sighs but doesn’t answer. He’s still touching Noctis, half to reassure him and half to reassure Ignis himself, and he doesn’t want to let go. In the end, he must, if only for Noct to get some sleep.

“Gladio and I will keep watch,” he announces. “You two sleep. Nothing will be making it in here tonight or any other night.”

A shaky hand wraps around his wrist and squeezes slightly. “’m sorry,” Noct whispers.

“What for?”

Noctis moves until his cheek presses against the back of Ignis’ hand on his shoulder. His skin is clammy and rough. Gladio had mentioned burns, but are they truly this bad? “For everything,” he murmurs. He sags in Ignis’ hold. “Every…thing.”

Ignis twists his hand until he’s cupping his face, dragging a thumb over his cheekbone. “You have nothing to be sorry for,” he says. He feels his mouth move. “But I accept your apology anyway.” He strokes a hand through Noct’s hair gently, careful of wounds and tangles. “Now. Please sleep.”

He nods against his hand. Prompto and him struggle a bit until they find a comfortable way to curl up with each other on the tiny mattress. Ignis sit back on the other bed with a heavy sigh, head thrown back to look up at the ceiling he can’t see. He won’t say anything, not until he’s sure Noctis is asleep, but he’s not sure he can form the words to describe how…_fucked up_ the situation is.

Prompto’s murmuring something soft to Noctis. He can imagine how they look; it wouldn’t be the first time they’ve fallen asleep curled up like puppies. Noctis tucked under Prompto’s chin, hands curled against his chest with Prompto’s arms wrapped around his shoulders, their legs tangled together.

Gladio’s weight settles next to him, their arms brushing. Ignis leans into him, just a bit. And they sit there in silence as Noctis and Prompto fall asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr @mikkalia15  
twitter @mik_kal15  



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